Cloning potatoes

Planting potatoes

What a difference a word makes. Planting potatoes sounds so normal, wholesome, so farm and garden. Call it cloning potatoes, and now it sounds…weird. Really, it’s nothing special, just another word for the same old thing. Of the common garden veggies around here, potatoes and garlic are cloned: no seeds, no bees and flowers and pollination, instead, plant a piece of the original. Put a potato in the ground and it’s off to the races: vegetative propagation, direct multiplication—so simple!

In the photo: Yukon Gold seed potatoes. They’re regular potatoes, just smaller, and they haven’t been sprayed with sprout inhibitors (unlike many/most/all supermarket potatoes sold through the winter and till the next potato harvests).

Tiny jungle

Mix of seedling out in the sun

Hardening off seedlings on a mainly sunshiny day. I can see tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, Brussels sprouts, and bok choi. Some are for now, some a little down the line. I’ve been transplanting steadily bit by bit, rather than all out at one time, as a hedge against erratic weather changes. Same with direct seeding. It’s another experiment, and given our short season and the generally unpredictable weather, it’s risky. Then again, depending on the crop, I’ve seen plantings a week or two apart more or less even out. It’s always a gamble!

Transplants love drab weather

Tomato transplanted, early days

Transplants, like these tomatoes, do well in mostly overcast, even rainy weather for the first two or three days. Funny the way things in life can turn in an instant. One minute it’s put them in the sun, the next, welcome some cloud cover. My transplants start out under fluorescent light, a weak imitation of the sun: putting them out for a few hours, for at least two or three days, and back in to weaker light of the grow rack every night, gets them used to the sunlight. Once transplanted, though, they’ve got more to adjust to than sun. Their roots have been exposed and jostled. The nights usually get pretty cool in May, 20°F below what they’ve been used to. Maybe they sense the general vastness they’ve suddenly found themselves in, with a plant version of, “Oh my.” Whatever all is going on, it’s an adaptation. Full days of hot sun add the stress of having to pump more water into their leaves to keep from wilting. Although they’ll generally survive that sort of thing—as I’ve observed firsthand…—it’s easy to see the difference when the first few days have a good amount of cloud cover, and they really get rolling, stems thickening, the leaves turning a deep green. There are all sorts of ways, often way closer to ideal, to start seedlings indoors. For my simple, low-tech, rough-and-ready approach, this is how it seems to work!

In the photo: The little golden brown blobs scattered around are alfalfa pellets, used as fertilizer. They start of as hard pill-like cylinders, and expand to crumbly little blobs after being wet, then continue to break down as they join the soil food web.

Cloudy day greens

Zucchini seedlings

Zucchini seedlings, nearing the end of another whole day outdoors, mostly sunshine, but it’s clouded over now (looks and feels like rain!) They’ve been outside enough that they’re used to the sun, and they’re big enough to go into the ground. For some unexplored reason, I think about veggie colors whenever the light is flat and grey. Leaf greens are dulled, lose their vibrancy, while bright colors like the oranges of carrots and radish reds become intense, almost luminescent. Transplant leaves are paler green, after an infancy spent mainly under the grow lights. After they’re set out to fend for themselves, it’s fun to watch for them to turn a whole range of deep, rich greens, a sure sign that they’ve settled in to the great outdoors—maybe like returning an animal to the wild, and seeing it later on, alive and kicking!

Boldly low-tech grass clearing method

Clearing tall grass

An experimental procedure, effectiveness so far unknown. In some spots, sections of tall grass are swallowing the single strand of electric fence that has so far protected the veggie patch from deer. To keep a nicely unpleasant jolt running smoothly, the grass must be cleared! I’ve used various methods in the past. There’s been the 48″ deck mower on the tiny tractor. Running over the strip under the fence line with the same tiny tractor. Or the handy string trimmer, aka weed whacker, that spits out microplastic particles as the nylon cutting line wears down. And the low tech large garden shears. This year, I’m doing things as manually as possible. If I had a scythe… Since I don’t, and the garden shears haven’t been at all as quick and efficient as I’d hoped, I had a new idea. Lay down a plank under the line—here it’s a 2x4x8—to bend the grass, slide it over a bit so the strip of bent bottoms under the plank is exposed, and slice through with a utility knife, using the plank like a ruler. It went pretty quickly, with only 60-70′ (18-21m) in total of sections to do. And the grass is gone! Whether this really works we’ll find out in how long it takes to grow back. Hopefully, the cut grass will dry into a mulch that helps block future growth. I’m modestly optimistic—the minimum expectation for me to try it at all. Stay tuned!

Long slow sunset

Sunset in May

It’s seven and the sun is only slowly setting. Every year, at probably around this exact point, I’m surprised again by how long the days get. How much changes with all that light! It’s quite the swing from winter, when you’re indoors anyway thanks to the cold, and daylight gets down to 10 hrs—wake up in darkness, dark before dinner. Suddenly now, you wake in the middle of the night and grey light is already creeping through cracks in the curtains. Mildly disorienting… I used to be more tuned to the daylength differences when, for half the year, May through October, I was up at five every Saturday for the farmers’ market. Still, awake around dawn or not, there’s always a particular time in spring and fall when the changes hit. Anyhow, right now, this is great for fieldwork—more hours in the day!

Best not to touch!

Meet the oil beetle! When I see new insects that I don’t immediately recognize, there’s an automatic, “Who goes there?!” challenge in my head. So many little critters can do so much veggie damage, one can’t help a “you’re either with me or against me” reaction to the unknown. In this case, I have to identify this fairly spectacular, sparkly beetle, sitting on a thistle that will soon be tilled under. (More to follow… Think powerful blistering agent, voracious beehive raider,… I doubt there’s a single insect species that doesn’t have it’s own odd and elaborate quirkiness )

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